


The Moon on Some Swings

by tmelange



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2011-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:43:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmelange/pseuds/tmelange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex finally has his chance with Clark, but do the ends justify the means?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in March 2002, updated November 2005.

**Part 1**

Perhaps he wept, and told himself "In vain  
I fed myself on shadows and on errors."

From _Baltasar Gracian,_ Jorge Luis Borges

+

Those final moments right before he toppled over the edge had felt like a spear going through his heart, a sword through his stomach—like having a thousand new colors added to his senses all at once. It was only now, standing by the window in the midnight hush, that his mind was clear enough to think about what had happened rationally.

 _Think back. How had he looked? That was desire in his eyes—wasn't it? Who had made the first move? How had it all happened?_

Lex pressed his forehead against the cold glass, studying the white vista of snow beyond, then turned away from the window and gazed across his bedroom at the man—the boy—lying asleep in his bed. Clark. He took an involuntary step forward before he was able to stop himself, a halting half step toward the bed and the strange haven that had been created between satin sheets in the last three hours. The pull was tangible, remarkable . . . seductive; it almost pulled Lex right out of himself, almost dragged him across the room—but he resisted.

There was a niggling feeling of wrongness that seemed focused at the base of his neck, telling him that everything had been too . . . easy, that the one thing he had wanted most and thought never to attain wouldn't have been just handed to him on a silver platter. Some suspicion pressed down upon his conscience, some intuitive knowledge and a growing sense of . . . guilt.

A whisper of cool night air from the open fireplace caused the diaphanous white curtains framing the windows by the bed to flutter. Shirtless, Lex shivered. Clark. The thin material allowed the light of a full moon to stream into the room through the windows like a river, enveloping Clark in a pale radiance that turned his flawless skin to marble. The boy was beautiful. Such a perfect beauty—it practically stung the eyes. Lex sighed softly. He did not trust a beauty that brought him to a complete standstill, afraid to go back to his own bed.

 _In beauty, there are many strange dangers._

Lex had to look away.

He closed his eyes briefly—his blind eyes. He had figured it out. It was all so clear, in retrospect.

"You drugged him," he said calmly, but a knot of cold despair hardened in the pit of his stomach at the realization.

Victoria stepped into the moonlight by the open door in her short silk robe as if summoned, conjured up out of snowy enmity and fading dreams. She padded across the room in her bare feet, looking petite without the benefit of her high-heeled shoes, almost like a young girl. She looked delicate and pretty and innocent. Lex wondered, in an oddly detached way, where she had taken herself to, while he and Clark had been . . . _busy with each other._ He had almost forgotten about her. He shouldn't have let himself forget—what she was capable of.

"Don't act as if you didn't know, Lex," she said with a vicious smugness that turned his stomach. "Not even _you_ could think that an inexperienced boy straight off the farm would do what Clark did tonight without asking a question, without batting an eyelash."

A terrible anger bubbled up in his throat, tasting thickly of bile; the bitterness was so thick it was choking him, making it hard for him to breathe. It took all of his considerable willpower to stand still, to stay calm. _No, Victoria, I wasn't . . . thinking.  
_  
"Now," her voice was light, wheedling, and she ran a polished finger with a nail like a claw across his exposed chest, "I got you something you wanted, lover. I expect you to return the favor."

"I don't know what you mean," Lex said softly. He pictured his hands closing around the smooth pale skin of her throat, of squeezing, hard, until time stopped for both of them and ran backwards.

"I think you do. _Quid pro quo,_ Lex, darling. Makes the world go round."

Softly, quietly. _Whisper, Lex. Luthors don't shout._ "And you expect me to do what?" he asked in a low voice—his most dangerous voice—as he stepped closer to her and reached out to grip her arm.

Victoria stared up at him defiantly. "Agree to help me," she answered quickly. "Sell me one-third of your LuthorCorp shares, Lex. Just one-third." Her excitement animated her face as she rushed to explain. "With your LuthorCorp shares and my shares of Hardwick Industries consolidated, we could come up with a strategy to oust both our fathers."

"Both companies under your control."

"Not for me, Lex, for us! I don't have enough A-class voting stock in my father's company to make a difference to you. But you—! Your father has given you just enough control to sink LuthorCorp."

Lex nodded. He could almost feel sorry for her. How little she knew of Lionel Luthor, but it was pointless to explain the realities of the situation to a person whose logic was as facile and self-serving as Victoria's. "And you think I'm going to do this because...?"

She took another step closer and kissed him, pressing her lips to his lips, murmuring, "Because our young friend didn't have a clue what you wanted from him, Lex. He was so _innocent._ You would never have gotten him into your bed without me."

Lex stood still as her mouth moved from his lips to the lobe of his ear.

"And you might never again, if you don't play fair," she whispered. "There is a rose, Lex, called Cuisse de _Nymphe Emue._ You may have heard of it. It blooms once, unreservedly, and then never again. How would it feel to never taste, to never _experience_ that beautiful boy again? How will young Clark react when he wakes up in the morning and finds out you've drugged him?"

"I didn't—"

"But will he believe you, Lex? _Will he believe you over me?"_ Her breath was warm in his ear but the words—they were like icicles stabbing his heart. Lex shivered and glanced quickly over at the bed to make sure Clark was still asleep. Victoria continued, "Play fair with me and I'll play the villain for you—gladly. Try to cross me and I'll make sure that our young stud knows that it was _you_ who convinced me to spike his drink, _you_ who wanted to take advantage of the situation, _you_ who wanted to orchestrate a way into his pants. _You_ who jumped at the chance."

His grip on her arm tightened, but only slightly. He pushed her away, but gently. "Careful, Victoria," he said with a dry edge to his voice, with a small smile, his most disdainful, mocking expression firmly in place. "I think you're overestimating the value of a piece of ass. Why the hell would I care what Clark thinks? He's a big boy, and life is about trying to get over. The sooner he realizes that fact, the better off he'll be."

Victoria smiled widely, showing a mouthful of sharp, brilliant, perfectly even teeth. "You don't fool me, Lex," she said smugly. "He's important to you. I've seen the way you look at him. _I've seen the way you two act when you’re together."_

Lex smirked. "I think you're mistaking lust for something else, though I suspect you might not know the difference." He looked her over scornfully. "There was nothing— _nothing_ —that I got tonight that I couldn't get on any street corner in Metropolis."

Victoria glared at him. "You're lying."

"Believe what you want." Lex shrugged.

"Doesn't matter," Victoria said quickly. "Even if what you say is true, Lex, how fast do you think you'd be run out of town if word got around about what happened here tonight? That Lex Luthor is in love with a sixteen year-old boy?"

Lex grinned openly, mocking her with his eyes. "Love? _Love?_ Please, Victoria. Stop with the melodramatics." She stared at him. Lex held her gaze with practiced nonchalance. "Why don't you try this, Victoria, _dear:_ seems to me that fucking a sixteen year-old hick straight out of the Smallville corn fields would be a great way to convince my father to get me out of this shit hole of a town." He stepped back, spread his arms out wide and bowed theatrically. "This wouldn't be the first time I took advantage of some poor boy to further my own pathetic ends. My father would hardly be surprised."

"Why, Lex," Victoria snapped viciously, "I wonder if poor Clark knows how highly you regard him and his idyllic little town."

With one quick irrepressible movement, he stepped close to her and grabbed her by the throat. "Get out, Victoria," he said between clenched teeth. "Find yourself someplace to sleep that's as far away from my bedroom as possible. As soon as the storm lets up, I want you out of my house, out of my life, for good. If I see your face again, I won't be responsible for my actions."

"Don't threaten me, Lex."

He let her go, stepped back and took a deep breath, watched as she straightened her robe and acted as if nothing had happened. Watched as she smiled slowly with that hard little edge of triumph he remembered from their school days in England. Lex knew his actions had just belied his words, and that, unwisely, he had given her an advantage. But how he hated her!

"Take a few hours, darling," she cooed as she patted his cheek lightly, "and think about what I said. Then come and find me. I suspect if we wait until morning to get our story straight things might go badly…."

She grinned at him as she tilted her head towards the bed. "Look, he stirs. Better get over there. Wouldn't want Clark waking up all alone. Maybe you can get one more good fuck out of him—before the drug wears off and he realizes what you did."

Lex stood, frozen, with his hands clenched into fists in the pockets of his pajama bottoms as Victoria stepped closer and kissed him. "You don't have to thank me, lover," she said as she turned and headed for the door. "We make a great team, you and I. Always have."

He watched her go, not bothering to say anything. What was there to say, after all? Victoria had always been a bitch, but at least she was a known quantity. He knew exactly what she would do, how she would do it, and when. He knew her like the back of his hand— _and wasn't that the point?_ Despite what Victoria might think, she wasn't the key to this whole sorry situation. In fact, she was completely incidental. It was unlikely Clark would believe her anyway.

 _No,_ the way the whole evening would seem to Clark in the morning, the way his own actions would look and be remembered, would hinge on trust—and trust _betrayed._

Slowly, Lex turned back towards the bed . . .

. . . and was caught, spellbound, as his eyes roamed over a pale shoulder, down the slope of a muscled back, across the curve of a torso and the white sheet negligently covering a thigh. He stood, feasting his eyes—but from a safe distance. For some reason, he was reluctant to cross the room, move closer to the bed. But he could barely resist.

What was happening to him? How was it possible that in three short hours—three magical hours—he had lost complete control of his feelings? He had been in love before, or at least thought himself in love with other people at other points in his colorful past, but what was this strange longing that seemed to tether him to the boy in his bed—that made Clark's opinion of him, Clark's _friendship,_ so breathlessly _crucial?_

Lex felt . . .

 _He felt . . ._

He did not recognize what he was feeling. He could call it love—but only for lack of a better word. Apprehensively, he realized that despite his varied love life, he had never before felt so saturated, so seeped in another person as he did right at this moment. He could smell Clark from across the room, could still taste the very essence of him on the tip of his tongue, could see Clark three-dimensionally with his eyes closed—knew with certainty that he would dream of Clark in bright, multifaceted hues. It seemed as if he could feel Clark's heart beating from across the room, rising from the floor through the soles of his bare feet, resonating in the hollows of his own bones like an echo.

Lex had never _felt_ so happy. He had never _felt_ so afraid.

Strange, how the most fragile, tenuous connections can suggest a kind of forever, allow in the most desire, the most uncertainty . . . and the most regret. Why did it have to happen _this_ way, through a series of manipulations, a series of illusions—self-delusions? If only he could know right now how Clark would react in the morning, when the harsh light of day shone brightly on the events of the evening. How Clark would feel about waking up in his bed, wrapped in his arms. Would he be happy? _Disgusted?_ Would Clark believe him when he said that he didn't . . . _know_ . . . about the drug? Could he make his friend believe it, even if it wasn't exactly true?

If only there was a way to be sure, before Clark woke up, whether there would be excitement, understanding, hate . . . _love_ . . . in those sharp blue eyes. _If only there was a way to get into Clark's head, to know what he had been thinking—feeling—at the time…._


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

Clark couldn't see two feet in front of his face. Hill upon hill of powdered white ice like thick mounds of sugar completely impeded his progress. Snow clogged every sound. He had tried to use his super speed and had managed to run right into a tree. It was so bitterly cold out that he was actually . . . cold. And wet. And miserable—inside and out. Unable to determine the best way to get home and frustrated beyond bearing, he found himself on the doorstep of the one person who had always managed to have a solution to most of his problems.

"Clark!" Lex's surprise at seeing him, snow-encrusted and bedraggled, standing on his doorstep in the middle of a blizzard was written on his expressive face with a broad stroke. "You look . . ." Lex paused. "You look like the Abominable Snowman."

"Funny ha-ha funny, Lex. Are you going to let me in, or what?" Clark groused, feeling even grumpier because Lex was warm and dry and . . . happy . . . and obviously in firm control of his usual pithiness.

"Yeah, sure." Lex stepped back from the doorway, allowing Clark to move past him and into the dark foyer. "What in the world are you doing out in this weather?"

"I was dropping off a science project at school for the exhibit this weekend," Clark explained as he pulled off his jacket and tried to shake the icicles from his hair like a shaggy dog. Lex jumped backwards as a spray of icy wetness flew in his direction. Clark glared at him. It was just too much to expect him to accept Lex's usual fastidiousness when he soaking wet and utterly miserable. "I didn't expect the snow to come down like this," he admitted shortly.

"You mean a farm boy from Kansas can't taste a blizzard on the wind?" Lex smirked. "Where's your car?"

"I walked."

"You walked," Lex deadpanned. "In a blizzard?" He shook his head in amazement. "Shit."

Clark ran a hand through his soggy hair, not wanting to admit to his friend that he had walked because he was upset; that he had made an utter fool out of himself with Lana earlier by buying her flowers for Valentine's Day just to have her say that she couldn't accept them, that it wouldn't be fair to _Whitney._ Anyway, walking six miles to town was such a . . . _country_ . . . thing to do, and he always hated seeming so unsophisticated to his older, overly-sophisticated friend. He suspected that one of these days Lex was going to get tired of humoring the small town hicks in Smallville—himself included. "Listen," he said instead of explaining, "can I hang out here for a while, just until it dies down?"

"Clark, where have you been—under a rock? It's not going to die down. They've predicted ten to twelve _feet."_

"Dammit," he said, thoroughly disgusted at a day that seemed to keep getting worse and worse. His parents were going to kill him. "How am I going to get home?" He looked at Lex hopefully. "Could you...?"

"Forget it, Clark. I couldn't drive you home if I wanted to. I don't have a four-wheel-drive vehicle."

Clark rolled his eyes at the sheer idiocy of the super-rich. "You mean to tell me you have fifteen cars and not one of them is equipped to handle snow?"

"That's right," Lex answered smugly.

"Great." Clark sighed in frustration and gave up on the thought of going home. Dismissing Lex and his unfathomable bias against the _regular_ cars and trucks that _regular_ people used to go about their _regular_ everyday lives, he knelt down in a quickly accumulating puddle and tried to work his feet out of his boots. It became a task that took on epic proportions since his boots were soaked through, his laces were frozen stiff and impossibly tangled, his jeans were plastered to his body like a sopping wet second skin, and he still hadn't regained full feeling in his hands.

"Just call your parents," Lex said, standing over him while clearly trying to keep his expensive shoes out of the ever-expanding puddle. "Tell them you're stuck here for the duration. I promise to get you home at the earliest opportunity."

Clark didn't bother to answer. His father wasn't going to be happy that he was stuck relying on the goodwill of Lex Luthor. Even though his parents had sort of warmed to Lex over the past few months, a phone call saying that he had to stay at the Luthor estate _overnight_ was not going to go over well. His father still hadn't really gotten over the fact that he considered Lex to be one of his best friends, despite the age disparity and their different backgrounds. Sometimes, he could hardly understand himself how it had happened, so to expect his father to understand his unusual relationship with Lex was probably asking too much. Clark suspected his father hoped that Lex would lose interest in him one day—one day soon. He smiled a little wistfully at the thought and then sighed. _Lex probably would._

"Clark."

Clark jumped and looked up at Lex from his kneeling position.

"Come here. Let me help you."

Lex lightly touched the hair on his head, drawing him to his feet not so much by the physical action but by his obvious desire that Clark should follow. He got up slowly, curious, and followed Lex down the hall to the foot of the staircase. He tried to ignore the fact that he sounded remarkably like a duck because the water in his boots squished so loudly.

"Sit."

Lex pushed him down onto a small, velvet-cushioned bench against the wall. Clark almost resisted, knowing that his wet jeans would stain the expensive fabric, but Lex left him no time to protest. Before he could say anything, Lex knelt down carefully and began pulling at the laces on his boots.

"Lex . . ." Clark said, surprised. He could feel the blood rush to his face.

"What?" Lex looked up at him in consternation. "You're soaking wet, Clark. Your hands are frozen. Clearly you have to get out of these clothes, and you weren't making any progress on the boots yourself."

"But . . ."

"Hey, don't worry. I worked one summer as a personal valet. I'll have these boots off in a jiffy."

"A valet? Really?" Clark asked, finding the idea strange.

"No, not really," Lex said and smirked, his gray eyes twinkling. "I was joking. Can you really see me as someone's valet?"

Clark shook his head in mock annoyance and grinned as Lex started to work on his boots in earnest. Somehow, his friend's usual insouciance had already managed to penetrate his gloom. _Lex Luthor: The Cure for the Lana Lang Blues._ Who knew? He bit his lip, trying not to laugh out loud and re-focused his attention on his kneeling friend as Lex made significant progress on his right boot. Lex pulled the boot off and tugged on his wet sock. Clark shivered as warm hands came in contact with the cold clamminess of his skin.

"You have big feet."

Embarrassed, Clark just stared at Lex. He had never been in a situation quite like this before—with a guy, kneeling between his legs, massaging his foot. And that was what Lex was doing—nonchalantly massaging his foot. Clark blinked quickly, willing the hot flush to leave his cheeks and trying to stop himself from reflectively pulling his foot out of his friend's grasp. There was just something strange about Lex acting like his personal attendant. Clark shivered again. "Yeah . . . tall people usually have big feet," he mumbled uncertainly as warmth slowly seeped into his toes.

"That better?" Clark nodded mutely. "You'll be lucky if you don't catch pneumonia, Clark. Out walking around in a blizzard, no hat, no gloves...."

"It wasn't snowing when I left the house," Clark said defensively as Lex pulled off his left boot. Lex snaked his hand up the leg of Clark's jeans and rolled his wet sock down and off.

"Let's get you some dry clothes," Lex said after a few minutes spent massaging Clark's newly liberated foot. He got up quickly and headed up the staircase, clearly expecting Clark to follow.

But Clark sat for a minute, breathing slowly, trying to isolate the reason for his sudden feeling of . . . strangeness, the fluttering in his stomach, the blood that refused to recede from his cheeks, the startling stirring in his groin that made his wet jeans so much tighter in the most embarrassing places. He wiggled his toes and shook his head, annoyed at himself and his sixteen year-old hormones. Who would have thought he'd have such a crazy reaction to a person touching his feet?

"Clark!"

"Coming," he called out as he got to his feet and headed up the stairs.

"Clark!"

Clark followed the voice to the left, past the gym and the library, finally locating his friend in a room at the end of an L-shaped hallway. Clark had never been in this area of the second floor and was curious about the location, especially since he knew that Lex's bedroom was pretty far in the other direction.

"You can sleep here tonight, Clark," Lex said as he threw a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt across the room. "This room is always prepped for company. You'll have complete privacy. No one will bother you."

"Who…?" he started to ask, but Lex had disappeared into the bathroom. When he re-materialized, he threw a towel at Clark's head, forestalling his train of thought.

"Now dry off and change."

Clark did not hesitate. He turned, dropped the towel on the bed, gratefully unbuttoned his soggy red flannel shirt, dropped it on the floor and pulled his white T-shirt over his head. Picking up the towel, he dried his hair and wiped his neck and chest. He was feeling so much better he started to grin. He unbuttoned his jeans, pulled the zipper down and tried to wriggle himself out of the wet denim without divesting himself of his boxer shorts in the process. Realizing that there was no way to get his jeans off without also losing his underwear, he decided to head into the bathroom to finish disrobing; perhaps he'd jump into the shower quickly too. As he turned, he caught Lex looking at him strangely.

"What?"

"Nothing," Lex said lightly. "Listen, here's my phone." He pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and set it on the dresser. "Call your parents. I'll meet you downstairs after you finish. Take your time."

Clark nodded. He watched his friend's retreating back for a moment, then shrugged and headed into the bathroom to finish changing his clothes.  
+

He needed a pair of shoes, or slippers, at least. It just seemed so unusual to be walking around the Luthor mansion with his toes a-wagging.

Clark stopped at the top of the staircase and wondered at the feeling of excitement that had settled in the pit of his stomach since he had gotten off the phone with his mother. The feeling was so completely unlike his earlier dark mood that he had to smile. He hadn't thought about Lana since he had stepped through the front door of the mansion, and maybe that had been the whole point.

If he was truthful with himself . . . the last thing he had wanted when he had gotten home from school earlier was to be snowed in at the farm for _days_ with nothing to do but think about Lana and how he had _no chance_ with Whitney still in the picture. If he were to be _completely_ honest, he had kind of put himself in a situation where he had an excuse to spend some time with Lex, knowing that his worldly friend from Metropolis was probably the only person interesting enough to get his mind off his troubles. Clark hadn't exactly _lied._ He had headed back to school with his science project after he had finished his chores, fully intending to get home before the snow picked up in earnest. He just, maybe, disregarded the possibility he could get stuck in town. He supposed he had compounded that possibility by walking into town instead of driving . . . but he had never really thought the snow would make it impossible for him to use his super speed. Not really. Okay, the thought had occurred to him, but what were the odds it would actually _happen?_

Clark suspected his parents realized he had sort of created this situation, at least by the way they had sounded over the phone. Actually, his parents' reaction was the whole problem. Lex was the only one of his friends that his parents seemed to expect him to have a _reason_ to see. If he had been stuck at Pete's house or even Chloe's, his parents wouldn't have thought twice about it.

The lights flickered. The staircase went completely dark. Clark froze as he heard the sound of an emergency generator turning over. The lights stuttered on and then held steady as he continued slowly down the stairs. If it was snowing so badly that the lights were going out, he might be stuck at the manor for days….

Clark grinned. It would be like a vacation—just the two of them, hanging out, talking, watching movies and playing chess, maybe even fencing. He thought about the gym, the sauna, the indoor pool....

And stopped dead in his tracks as he reached the door to the sitting room, completely appalled.

"Clark."

He blinked twice, quickly, taking in the flowers—red, red roses— _everywhere,_ smelled their sweet cloying scent heavy in the room, saw the fireplace blazing and Lex standing casually by the double patio doors. Victoria— _Victoria_ —was standing next to him possessively with a hand on his arm as if she were the queen of the castle to Lex's king. Clark's eyes fastened on Lex as he tried hard to conceal his distress. _What was she still doing here?_ Victoria would ruin _everything._

"Clark?"

"Hey," Clark said as he continued into the room with a shuffling reluctance.

"Hello, Clark."

"Uh . . . hi." Clark smiled at Victoria wanly, looking away from her quickly. He ducked his head, feeling very awkward and completely underdressed in his bare feet, simple white T-shirt and worn black sweatpants. For the first time since he had arrived at the mansion, he realized that Lex was dressed up, that he was wearing dark gray slacks, an expensive-looking gray silk shirt and a tie with a pattern in the purple color Lex so often liked to wear. Clark took a surreptitious inventory of Victoria—short sleeveless red dress cut low in the front, very low, black high-heels…. Aghast, Clark realized that it was Valentine's Day, and perhaps . . . perhaps, it wasn't Victoria who was the intruder at all.

Lex stepped away from her, walked across the room towards Clark. "Did you call your parents?" he asked in a discrete voice.

"Yeah," Clark said, extending the cell phone.

"What did they say?"

"What could they say? They certainly weren't too happy that I'm stuck here."

Lex looked at him quizzically. "Stuck? I would hope you'd think about your stay here as something other than being _stuck."_

Clark shrugged then glanced quickly over at Victoria before his eyes shied away and returned to focus on his friend's somewhat hurt expression. Truth to tell, Clark was disappointed and embarrassed, and a little mad at Lex for keeping Victoria around even though she was obviously just using him. Clark didn't _want_ to take his frustration out on his friend but he was always the odd man out with everyone— _Lana_ —everyone . . . except Lex. He never thought he would be a third wheel at his best friend's house. It had always been just the two of them; whenever he could find time to spend with Lex, Lex had been completely available. He never had to worry about anyone _else_ interrupting the little bit of time they had to hang out together. But it was Valentine's Day and Lex had every right to have . . . a date. Why would Lex be sitting home, alone, waiting for _him_ to show up on his doorstep?

"I didn't know you had company," Clark said in a low voice as he realized the reason Lex had put him in a bedroom so far away from his own. _Because Lex and Victoria would want to be alone._ He felt sick with embarrassment and wanted to apologize. "I would never have come over—"

"Clark," Lex interrupted him, "you know you have an open invitation here. You can show up at my house anytime."

"But . . . I didn't know Victoria was here—" he began again, uncertainly.

Lex waved a hand. "Victoria? You knew she was here."

Clark ducked his head. "It's just that I thought she went home after that thing with Amy."

"She did. She's only came up for the weekend. For Valentine's Day, really." Lex grinned suggestively.

Clark didn't think the situation was funny at all. In fact, he felt weird, all of a sudden. There was a thrumming at his temple that seemed to have developed out of nowhere, a small ache at the back of his knees, a hollowness in the pit of his stomach. He began again, "It's obvious you two have plans tonight. I didn't mean to—"

"Clark? Are you all right? You don't look good. Here." Lex reached out a hand and grabbed his arm, steering him to the sofa. "Sit down. You know, you've probably made yourself sick, what with being out in a blizzard with practically nothing on. What were you thinking? Are you thirsty? Do you want some tea? The kitchen staff has gone home for the weekend but I could make you something. I need to get you a pair of slippers. You shouldn't be walking around in your bare feet...."

Clark barely heard Lex as he hovered. His attention was fixed on Victoria. She was standing across the room, watching silently with a drink in one hand. Strangely, he thought she looked very much like one of those Greek statues of Medusa. Any second, he felt her hard gaze could turn him into stone.

The lights flickered three times and went out.  
+

"I think you should have stayed in the house, Clark," Lex said as he navigated a particularly deep snowdrift.

"I'm fine. Stop mothering me. I'm not sick," Clark answered defensively as the two of them made their way around the side of the house towards the circuit box and the emergency power generator. It was still snowing pretty heavily, but the wind had died down so the falling snow was merely an inconvenience, not a hazard. Clark trudged after Lex, keeping a wary eye on his friend's progress. He was feeling surly, feeling sorry for himself, like there was nothing in the world that was completely _his own._ But even in his dark mood, he was loath to let Lex out of his sight while the power was out. Too many strange things had taken place over the past few months. Clark would never forgive himself if something happened to Lex because he was sitting in the house, sulking. So he had put on his wet boots and coat and insisted on accompanying Lex to investigate.

They stopped in front of the door to the utility room. Before opening the door, Lex turned and looked at Clark skeptically. "Well, you're doing a pretty damn good imitation of a sick person then," he said. "And I'm not trying to mother you. I just don't want _your_ mother flaying me for sending you home with pneumonia." Lex unlocked the door and stepped into the darkness of the small room.

"I'm not a little kid, you know," Clark said hotly, following. "I don't need you to take care of me. I can take care of myself."

Lex held up his hands in mock-surrender. "Okay. I was just a little worried about you. Don't bite my head off."

"Sorry," Clark mumbled. He realized he was being unfair, but he couldn't seem to help himself. "Guess I'm in sort of a bad mood."

"I think I noticed," Lex said dryly. "What's wrong? You've seemed a little less than your usually sunny self since you arrived."

Clark opened his mouth to answer, to apologize for his surliness, but then he stopped, his mouth closing with a small sound of clicking teeth. What was the problem exactly? Earlier he would have said he was upset over Lana but now—well, now, the situation with Lana seemed insignificant while the thought that he would have to spend the night under the same roof as Victoria and Lex while they _celebrated_ Valentine's Day made him feel . . . sick. As he thought about it, he put his finger on what he was feeling—it was jealousy. He was _jealous_ of Victoria's relationship with Lex.

The realization was shocking. Clark's whole world seemed to shift and take on a strange new color. Glancing at Lex uncomfortably, he decided to use Lana as an excuse for his odd behavior. After all, it wasn't exactly a _lie._ Quickly, he explained all about Lana and the flowers and Whitney and about feeling like his one shot with Lana had somehow slipped away, relegating him to the 'just friends' category. When Lex nodded sympathetically, Clark felt his stomach unclench. A feeling of relief washed over him at not having to examine his behavior too closely, not having to explain out loud why he was so upset that Victoria was still in the picture.

"Let's see if we can fix this," Lex said, indicating the equipment. Clark nodded, and while Lex examined the circuit box with a flashlight, he walked around the side of the generator, using the moonlight from the open door to navigate, looking for a reset switch. As he examined the metal casing, he found the stenciling that indicated the make and model.

"I think we're out of luck," Clark said as he moved to stand behind Lex as Lex futilely flipped circuit breakers.

"What?'

"Your power generator. It's a Morton. It's an expensive model and it's not _supposed_ to break down. The only way to restart it is to call the electric company and have them flip a switch at the main office AND have a technician come out." Clark shrugged apologetically. "My father went through this with the salesman when we were looking for a new generator for the farm equipment."

Lex sighed. "I guess we'll have to do without electricity for the rest of the night. We have candles and at least we have heat." Clark followed Lex out of the little room and watched as he locked the door. When Lex finished, he turned and raised an eyebrow. "And I wanted you to stay in the house. What would I do without you, Clark?"

"Spend more time with Victoria?" Clark answered, unable to keep a touch of bitterness from coloring his tone.

Lex stopped and stared at him for a moment speculatively. "You really don't like her, do you?"

Clark shook his head before looking away, embarrassed by the intensity of his own reaction. "I just don't want to see you get hurt, Lex. I don't trust her."

"Clark, I thought you understood about her. She's . . ." Lex paused. "It's not what you think. I've known Victoria for a long time. In many ways, she and I are a lot alike. You could almost say I deserve her." Lex smiled that small self-mocking smile that Clark hated. "Our relationship is a lot like our lives—a sort of high stakes game of corporate brinksmanship. So don't read too much into it."

"Then why—?"

"If you're not careful, Clark, I'm going to think you're a little bit jealous." Lex grinned.

"No!" Clark looked down then mumbled, "Well, maybe. I guess it's a quirk of being an only child. I kind of get attached." Clark looked up, trying to determine how Lex was taking his explanation and saw only understanding in his gray eyes. "It's just that every time I've seen you lately _she's_ been around. I mean, you can date who you want but . . . I guess I was kind of looking forward to us hanging out, since I'm stuck here and everything. Just the two of us."

"There's that 'stuck' word again." Lex smiled at him fondly. "Clark, there's no one more important to me than you. No one. No matter what, remember that. Victoria will never take your place in my life. I lo—" Lex paused with his face on the verge of an expression Clark didn't recognize. "You're like the brother I never had, Clark—like family. Luthors always put family first."

A little thrill of excitement, like forked lightning, went through Clark at that statement. The tingling feeling settled in the pit of his stomach and changed into a sort of yearning— _but for what?_

"Why do you always do that?" Clark asked.

"Do what?"

"Hide behind your name. _Luthor._ I don't care about your last name or your family traditions. It's _you,_ Lex. If your name were Lex Smith, you'd still be my best friend. I'd still feel the same way about you."

Lex stared at him. The moonlight reflecting off the snow gave his features an odd cast, and Clark had the feeling Lex was just about to say something, something important. Clark held his breath, poised on the balls of his feet, waiting . . . for something _more_ to happen, but Lex merely put an arm around his shoulders and said, "Come on. Let's get inside. It's cold out here," and the moment passed, leaving Clark more confused than ever.  
+

Lex looked at them apologetically as he held his cell phone away from his ear. "I have to take this in my office. It's an important call from Jakarta," he said as he got up from the sofa and headed out of the room. "I'll be back in 30 minutes, 45 tops. I promise." He looked at Clark hopefully. "Okay?" Clark nodded unhappily. Lex glanced at Victoria. "I'm sure Victoria can keep you entertained until I get back."

"Don't worry about me and Clark, love. We'll just stay here and chat."

Clark looked at Victoria warily. He wasn't particularly enthusiastic about spending time alone with her. He wondered if she would be offended if he just headed up to his bedroom to read, or something. As Lex exited the sitting room talking animatedly into his phone, Clark got up from the sofa and walked over to the pool table. He selected a cue stick and started setting up the balls in the rack, using the movement to hide his discomfort.

"So Clark," Victoria purred, "how did you and Lex meet again? He told me you saved his life. I understand you're quite the hero in Smallville. In fact, I don't think I ever really thanked you properly for saving _my_ life from that madman."

Clark glanced over at her covertly. The candlelight cast long shadows, making her seem even prettier than she looked ordinarily.

"It was nothing, really . . . I mean, it was something . . . it just wasn't a big deal, or anything." Clark felt the blood rush to his face and ducked his head, studying the green felt surface of the pool table.

"I hear you've made quite a habit of saving his life. Lex is lucky to have a friend like you."

Clark shrugged.

"Do you two," she paused, "hang out often?"

"I guess . . . not really," Clark stammered. "Lex is busy. I'm in school. I only get to see him occasionally. Mostly."

"Lex is a hard one to tie down," Victoria agreed. "With how busy he is, I'm surprised you two have time to see each other at all."

Clark shrugged, unsure of her point.

"Well, Clark, you are always welcome around here. I think it's so cute that Lex has taken you under his wing. Really, I don't want anything to change just because I'll be around."

Clark looked over at her in horror. She sounded as if she was staying . . . a long time. "Th-thanks," he muttered, turning away and selecting another cue stick to cover his distress.

When he turned back around, Victoria was standing right beside him—breathing. Clark jumped.

"Do you play?" she asked, smiling.

"Not really," Clark answered, uncomfortable with her nearness. He moved away, putting the table between the two of them. "Lex has been teaching me a little."

"Of course," she said lightly. "My Lex is pretty good with a stick." Clark blushed. "I've never liked pool, really," she continued. "It's so . . . tawdry." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "After the wedding, I'm going to see if I can get Lex to give it up."

Clark blanched, fumbled with the cue stick until he dropped it clumsily onto the table. "Wh-What wedding?"

"He hasn't told you yet?" Victoria brought a manicured hand to her mouth. "I'm so sorry! He probably wants to tell you himself and here I go spoiling it for him. He said he wants you to be his best man. Act surprised when he asks you, okay sweetie?"

Clark only realized that he was gripping the lip of the pool table as he felt his fingers sink slightly into the polished wood.

Victoria turned towards the door, saying airily, "I wonder what's keeping Lex? Leave it to him to get stuck on a business call at eight o'clock at night when we have company." She smiled fondly. "Can I get you something to drink, Clark? I think I'm going to have another glass of wine." She arched an eyebrow then sauntered across the room to the bar.

"No, thank you," Clark said in a low voice. He felt sick. He couldn't believe that Lex hadn't told him! Lex had let him go on and on about Victoria and how she was so untrustworthy, when all of the time he was planning on _marrying_ her.

Clark's thoughts were spinning. Guiltily, he realized that maybe he had made Lex feel uncomfortable by disparaging Victoria. Maybe Lex felt that he wouldn't understand that Lex . . . that Lex _loved_ her because of all the bad things Clark had said about her over the last few weeks. Clark remembered their earlier conversation outside, while they were checking out the electricity, and how Lex had acted as if he had wanted to tell Clark something before they came inside. Lex probably wanted to tell him all about the wedding and had held off because he thought Clark wouldn't support his decision.

Despondently, Clark realized Victoria had already drastically changed his relationship with Lex. Soon, everything was going to be different.

"It's only red wine, Clark," Victoria called out, snagging his attention. She smiled reassuringly. "I'm not sure what you Americans have against children drinking a little bit of wine. In Europe, everyone—even the children—has some with dinner. Trust me, it's good for the blood."

Clark couldn't stop himself from glaring at her. He was not a child, and he didn't appreciate being called one. He certainly didn't need to be treated like one.

"Plus," she continued, "you'll have to get used to it sometime soon. The best man is always responsible for a toast at the wedding reception." With a raised eyebrow that seemed to challenge him, she poured a second glass, leaving it only two-thirds full in a quietly mocking way that made Clark's blood boil. Slowly, she walked across the room and passed the glass to him. Clark looked at the drink in his hand, looked at Victoria defiantly, then put the glass to his lips and drank.

Victoria smiled lazily. She nodded towards the pool table. "Let's play a game, shall we?" She took a few moments to finish her drink, then walked over to the wall rack and selected a stick.

Clark seriously considered declining, finding some excuse to go up to his room before Lex got back. Clark could never hide what he was feeling; he just didn't have the face for it. Lex would know something was wrong immediately. Clark didn't want Victoria to have the satisfaction of seeing the two of them argue. Perhaps he could just ask her to tell Lex to stop by his room before the two of them . . . went to bed. Perhaps Lex would have an explanation. Perhaps this was all just a big mistake.

He finished his bitter drink with a grimace, getting ready to make his escape. Empty glass in hand, he walked over to the bar and set the glass down on the counter. He paused for a minute, trying to plaster the correct expression on his face.

"Clark?"

Clark started at the sound of his name. He turned to see Victoria leaning over the pool table, positioning a cue stick while peering at him seductively through a thick veil of long brown hair. Her breasts were practically falling out of the front of her red dress. Clark was captivated and completely speechless at the sight. He couldn't help but stare.

"Do you like them?" Victoria asked dryly.

Clark jumped, embarrassment making his whole body shiver. "I . . . uh . . ." What should he say? "Yes?" Abruptly, Clark felt warm—hot, actually. He watched warily as Victoria put down the cue stick and stared across the room at him with a small smile as her tongue darted out and lightly ran the length of her slightly parted lips. Her eyes traveled up and down the length of him.

Lingering.

Clark flushed. The invitation was unmistakable.

Victoria sauntered across the room.

Mesmerized, he felt the soft touch of fingers gently playing across the muscles of his arm. He swayed, backed up until he backed into the bar counter and could go back no further. Victoria stalked him; she was so close, he felt that if he took a deep breath, he could easily inhale her whole body.

And he was so _hot_. . . and dizzy. In the flickering candlelight, the entire room took on the haziness of a dream. He glanced around in alarm. _What was wrong with him?_ Hazily, Clark realized somewhere in the back of his mind that something was wrong, but he couldn't focus his thoughts enough to figure out what he should be doing differently. His eyes keep straying back to Victoria's face.

Her lips were wet and red and curved in a teasing, daring smile.

The room smelled like roses and Victoria like honeysuckle and sweet musk.

Clark could not speak. His mouth opened, tongue and teeth and lips moved but no sound materialized as her breasts pressed against his chest. Clark could feel her hard nipples though the thin cotton of his shirt.

As Clark struggled to do . . . something, Victoria moved even closer, took his bottom lip between her teeth and tugged—

Flustered, he thought he should pull away, but before he could move, she released him and set her lips to his throat. "You're flushed," she murmured. Her lips and breath warmed his ear. Her thigh was pressing into his groin and he felt as if he were about to explode, shatter into a million pieces.

"Victoria—" he groaned.

"Shh," she breathed and started devouring his neck.

Like a car going over a cliff, Clark surrendered. Sharp sensations like pinpricks were overwhelming his senses. He could no longer stop himself from _touching._ He reached out, seized Victoria and pulled her against him. "Where?" he asked hoarsely. Even in his strange state, he had a persistent feeling that what they were doing was wrong, that _Lex_ would be back any minute.

Victoria simply purred and licked his neck, then suckled hard against his throat. His breath left his chest in one big rush and took all of his reason with it. "Right here," she murmured hotly. "Right now."

Fiercely, he captured her lips, tangled a hand in her long brown hair, kissed her wetly and passionately until his head was spinning and he didn't know whether he was still standing or had fallen down.

She pulled back suddenly, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him away. Clark stumbled, bumping into the bar counter. Victoria grinned wickedly, then stepped closer and slowly ran a hand down his T-shirt, down the flat plane of his stomach. His cock jumped in response, tenting the front of his sweatpants eagerly. Victoria gripped the edge of his shirt and stepped even closer to place little kisses along the line of his jaw. Reverently, her hands moved, pulling his shirt up in one sultry motion. Clark shuddered as her fingertips lightly brushed his stomach. He raised his arms, allowing her to pull the shirt over his head. Like a white flag of surrender, his shirt fluttered to the floor.

Urgently, they kissed, tongues entwining, while his hands kneaded her breasts, pulling at the fabric of her dress, pushing aside the delicate lace of her bra until her hard little nipples eagerly nosed after the tickling pressure of his fingertips.

Then, Victoria became a whirlwind of sweet activity. Her mouth attacked his chest, biting his nipples, licking the length of his sternum, the curves of his muscles, sucking on the skin at his waist. Making her way slowly _down_ the length of him.

Kneeling, she put her tongue to his navel and licked at the hollow while she hooked her fingers in his waistband and pulled his pants down to his thighs. Clark gasped, his body jerking reflexively. Awash in a storm of dizzying sensations, he grabbed hold of the counter to steady himself.

Slowly, teasingly, Victoria licked down his lower stomach, nuzzling his pubic hair as his cock brazenly brushed against her cheek. Clark started to pant, finding it harder and harder to catch his breath as she licked down the length of his straining erection. Clark's trapped breath left his chest in one harsh exhalation as Victoria gripped his cock with both hands, closing her hot mouth over the head.

Clark closed his eyes and groaned. His head lolled back. As Victoria tortured him with lips and hands, the earth seemed to tilt on its axis as the most marvelous sensations radiated out from the tip of his cock in a centrifugal fashion. Time meant nothing to him. Imperceptibly, it passed without notice. As a particularly violent shudder racked his body, as his hands tangled in her hair and he pulled, urging her mouth to quicker, deeper efforts, Clark opened his eyes as if in a dream and saw the one person that mattered most to him in the whole world staring at him with a bright unreadable gaze.

 _Lex._ He mouthed the word but there was no sound. Clark was in an unbreakable cycle, ready to explode. He couldn't stop, couldn't halt the madness, even if he had wanted to. In a hot haze of intense feeling, his eyes locked on his friend's impenetrable face as Victoria sucked and swallowed and sent him spiraling over a jagged edge.

When the fireworks faded and he opened his eyes, it was to a scene that made him instantly hard again, as if his recent explosion was only a mini-geyser, a prelude to a fuller eruption. Lex was kissing Victoria, devouring her mouth greedily—but his eyes were open, staring at Clark intensely, over her shoulder.

Clark couldn't stand still, couldn't stand to see Lex kissing _Victoria_ —couldn't stand that Lex should be so far away and in someone else's arms, someone else's atmosphere. Brazenly, he wanted to prove to Victoria that Lex would never be hers, even if he married her, even if she thought he loved her. Seeing everything, every moment he had spent with Lex since the instant he had locked eyes with him on the day of the accident, seeing his own desires plainly for the first time through the fog, it all made complete sense to him. He . . . _wanted_ Lex. Clark had always _wanted_ him.

With a dreamy type of confidence, Clark extended a hand, drawing Lex away from Victoria's embrace, drawing him _in._

Then Lex was standing in front of him, close enough to touch. Clark's breath stopped in his throat. Lex was just . . . magnificent—as magnificent as a blizzard, with storm clouds that colored his eyes gray. Tentatively, Clark reached out and cupped his friend's face, resting fingertips lightly on a sharp cheekbone, thumb below the chin. Clark leaned towards Lex imperceptibly, gazed into eyes darker than his own, asked a silent question and saw only yes reflected back at him in response.

The feeling began in the pit of his stomach, radiated throughout his body with a warmth that made his skin tingle. There was something Clark wanted to do desperately—something he needed to do now. Stepping forward, pressing his body to Lex's body, he leaned in.

A feather-light touching, a gentle brush of lips, a soft exhalation of breath was the spark that ignited the fire; that stoked a moment of slowed down intensity into a frenzy of hot action. Fiercely, Clark held his friend's head steady with both hands pressed to his cheeks as he drenched those parted lips in long, passionate kisses, and found—

Pleasure so keen it left Clark seared and breathless and not sure how to keep his arms and legs working, and a head that ached from the absolute pleasure of the moment.

Frantically, Clark pulled at Lex's clothes, his tie, shirt buttons popped and fell to the ground, until he found that his ability to caress smooth pale skin was unimpeded. There was a river of raw lust coursing through his veins; slowly the river overflowed its banks. Not knowing or caring how it was going to happen or why, he simply wanted Lex to be as naked as he was himself, to feel the press of skin against skin, to have every inch of their bodies touching intimately.

Clark fumbled with Lex's belt, released the clasp of his pants, unzipped the zipper and was just about to push his slacks down and out of the way, to free his bulging erection, when Lex groaned and uttered the evening's first tempering words.

"Upstairs," Lex said hoarsely. "Now."

"Victoria—"

"Can take care of herself."

Clark looked around the room and realized that Victoria was nowhere to be seen. She was _gone,_ like smoke, like the remnant of a bad dream. He couldn't help but grin as Lex reached out, grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

"Clark," Lex said slowly and brought a hand up to touch his face tenderly. The caress was like a benediction and seemed to find all the sharp planes of his face. Clark felt as if his whole body was laved in the sweetest sensation, even to the tips of his toes. Flushed and excited, he shuddered with anticipation as he felt hot breath whisper in his ear. _Clark._ He shuddered again as one tender earlobe was captured by mouth, caressed by tongue, nibbled on by sharp teeth.

Lying on a bed that seemed to have the same soft cloudiness as heaven, Clark existed in a world without words—a world of the senses. Lex sucked on his tongue gently and instantly, Clark thought, _Roses,_ and felt them bloom inside his head. Lex passed a hand along his flank in a whispering caress and he thought, _Love,_ and felt it suffuse his whole body with warmth. Slowly, he was consumed with the erotic sensation of having Lex pressed against him, with having their hardening cocks trapped between bodies oiled with a light sheen of sweat, with having Lex tenderly lick the salt from the base of his throat with a tickling tongue.

And then Lex traveled down his body the way he would travel down a garden path—slowly, avidly, paying a reverential attention to every small detail, licking, biting, sucking. Making his way down. Blowing on the hair of his chest. Making his nipples as erect as small stones. Running his face against the soft skin of his belly, nuzzling, licking the small indenture of his belly button. Making his way . . . until Lex had shimmied down the length of him.

Lex flipped over so that his pale feet were by Clark's head and took Clark's erection slowly into his mouth. After the first incredible rush of sensations subsided, Clark did the same for him.

They licked simultaneously, gently and languorously teasing each other to desperation. The sweet, salty taste of skin, the moist, tickling warmth of tongue was like an assault in tandem. Clark strained as he tried to engulf the length cock, as if he could consume it all, take all of Lex into himself. He wanted to return to Lex every one of the delicious sensations that Lex was creating within him.

And then lightly, Lex began to lick his balls.

Clark froze, shuddering uncontrollably as Lex wrapped a hand around his cock, pulling back the foreskin, exploring the texture, coaxing pearls of moisture from the tip and spreading the creamy liquid around the head.

Gasping, he closed his eyes, arched his back helplessly as a chaotic ecstasy, a burning heat ignited in his groin. Lex had a tongue that was insistent, _skillful._ It was probing him in exactly the right places, around and around his balls, and lapping—fierce, rhythmic—along his stem . . . and below that, licking and sucking at the tight rim of his anus, pressing his tongue to the small hole, working it open, while his hand stroked the length of his erection, jerking up and down in a frantic motion.

Begging, sighing, Clark moaned loudly as Lex slipped a finger inside, then two, while his mouth took over for his hand and engulfed Clark's engorged tip, then the entire shaft. Lex began a rhythmic pumping with his fingers—now there were three fingers inside—and a ceaseless, miraculous suction. Clark knew with a certitude that bordered on a revelation that Lex had the most amazing and cunning fingers, the most unavoidable mouth in the whole world.

 _Lex._

Clark hardly knew whether he said the word, or screamed it, or merely thought the name in a haze of passionate entreaty as Lex grabbed his jerking hips with both hands, and _sucked_ just as he exploded like a volcano.

In the heat, in the tightly coiled excitement of the moment, it took Clark only a minute to regain his senses, only a short span of time to realize that his partner needed something too—that he had neglected Lex in reaching his own pinnacle. Opening his eyes, he saw Lex lying back on the bed pillows with his legs open wantonly. Lex grabbed his hand, pulled, grabbed the back of his neck and pulled—pulled Clark's head to his groin. Clark felt the keenest satisfaction bubble up in his chest as Lex arched his back in ecstasy when he slowly wrapped his mouth around his lover's cock.

The taste of pre-cum was like nectar, and Clark drank, sucking and licking aggressively. The hands pulling at his hair became insistent as Clark sucked around delicate balls while stroking a fierce rhythm with a sticky hand from head to stem.

At just the right moment, _just then,_ he engulfed the entire length of cock in his mouth, his hands firmly gripping Lex's raised buttocks, and opened his throat wide—allowing Lex to use his mouth frantically and with no encumbrances. Clark could feel the tension building, churning and swollen, in the back of his throat and knew there were only moments left before the torrent.

Abruptly, Lex threw his head back and groaned loudly, arching his back in sheer delight. The sound was like music and roared in his ears like the drums of paradise. Clark was there—in a cloudy heaven. He drank the milk of that place, lapped it up, greedy as a starving beggar.

Spent, they lay panting, one on top of the other, pressed together like a single statue chiseled from the same piece of marble—but only for a while. Clark simply could not lie still, could not stop wanting more and more and more of every stultifying sensation. Wriggling, grinding, pressing, it wasn't too long before he felt the response he was looking for.

"Oh God, Clark," Lex groaned. "I want . . . _Oh God, Clark."_

With a strange sort of instinct that seemed to absorb his lover's every desire, Clark knew what was wanted, what Lex needed. Quickly, Clark started his assault, with hands and with mouth, and with fingers that prodded and stretched Lex, stretched him open, readied him, filled him up. Urgently, he jerked himself off—once, twice, three times—and slathered creamy liquid down the length of his shaft. He fondled the crevice in Lex's buttocks. Fiercely, he pushed Lex's legs up until they were resting on his shoulders. Using strong fingers to spread his cheeks, he slowly, slowly sheathed himself in that small opening.

The sensations—they were almost too much for Clark, the tightness, the heat, the incredible dark heat that enfolded him, engulfed him as if it would never let him out. With intense slowness, he set a rhythm of long and deep strokes, shuddering with the exquisite _feel_ of it all. He tried desperately to keep control of the pressure rising in the pit of his stomach as he picked up his pace, moving faster, harder, deeper, slamming into Lex's body, trying to reach that one special place . . . finding it, banging into it again, and again.

Deliriously, Lex called his name and taunted and urged him on.

"It feels—" Clark gasped.

"You feel—" Clark's breath caught in his throat.

"—so good!" Clark yelled, slamming up against sweat-slicked skin. He hesitated for just an instant, resting, before sliding back into a slow rhythm, an aggressive, escalating motion. Clark leaned over, captured Lex's begging mouth, sucked on his tongue as he thrust and thrust until the stars in his eyes exploded.

Clark did not want to think about moving, but with a sigh, he finally moved enough to allow his wilted cock to slide out of a place that seemed like home, to allow legs to slip off his shoulders. Satisfied, he positioned himself close to Lex's side, threw a possessive leg over him and an arm, and closed his eyes, trying to slow his racing heart.

 _And it seemed like only moments before they were both ready to go again._

This time, it was Clark who was writhing, crying out for more, and Lex who was shuddering in chaotic ecstasy as he pushed himself into Clark's tightness. Clark tried to control the thundering in his stomach, the impossible, building pressure. Tingles and sharp pin prickles of unbelievable pleasure shot down his spine, through his veins, through his trapped cock, until the world detonated. Exploded. And he collapsed. Spent.

A warm, buoyant sensation expanded inside of Clark's chest, as if his heart was floating upward, swelling in size, expanding in shape. The most delightful lassitude stole over his body. Satisfied, completely content, he turned his cheek against Lex's shoulder and sank into that cloudy fogging of the senses—that prelude to a perfect sleep.  
+

Lex stared out of the window at the snow, at the acerbic beauty of the night, watching the moon through the lace of flurries, still avoiding his bed with an anxiousness that he was helpless to dispel. What was he afraid of?

 _Stupid question._

He was afraid that the night, conjured of candle smoke and mirrors, had no meaning beyond the brief incandescence of the here and now. _And that was simply unacceptable._ There was a way out of this situation, a way that would allow him to keep Clark's trust, if only he could find it; there was an explanation that would work, a reasonable spin that could be placed on events. Perhaps he should lie, say Victoria drugged him too? With an increasing level of detachment, Lex kept vigil against his fallback strategy: he figured if he stayed by the window, watching, he could somehow halt the moon's progress across the night sky.

The moon, his first friend—through the snowy mist it looked like it was wavering, suspended on a giant pendulum. Lex felt he could almost reach out and pull it from the sky. But its loveliness was unassailable; the moon swung by, just outside his grasp, now seemingly within reach, now beyond. Much in the same way his father used to taunt him when he was a child, holding a desirable object just outside the span of his arms, simply to watch him jump for it, stretch and cry. His mother, in her usual oblique way, had always tried to explain his father's behavior, soothe his own childish frustration through that story she used to read to him. Even in the story, it had always ended so fruitlessly: I see you climb to meet me, says the moon. _I regret, by the time you have gone high enough up the hill, I shall have reached the summit of the sky._

It was strange that his life should have changed so little in all these years. Strange, that he was still left grasping at straws.

Lex turned away from the window resignedly and walked over to the foot of the bed. If he was to have only one night, he wanted that night to be full and rich. He would not spend it staring out of a window, on morose remembrances of his childhood.

Carefully, he got into the bed, sighing softly as the tension and strain of keeping himself at a distance was finally released.

 _Clark._

Clark's face was in partial eclipse, half-moonlit, half-shadowed. Lex studied his profile, wondering sadly if he really knew how to love someone as beautiful as the moon. Did a jaded, messed up person like him really know how to love an innocent like Clark? Lex reached out, inspired to pass his fingertips across a muscled shoulder. _Is this the way to love him,_ Lex wondered, _or this? Is this the way?_

Bitterly, Lex reflected on how nothing in his world was allowed to remain sacred; his relationship with Clark had been that one cherished thing. How Victoria had taken the best part of his life and sullied it, just to further the corporate war between their families. How, in one evening, she had managed to ruin _everything._

Lex sighed. _Why bother to blame Victoria?_ With the type of familiar fatalism that hadn't been a part of his perspective since Clark had pulled him out of the river after the accident, he forced himself to admit the truth: he had known the minute he had walked into the sitting room that something was wrong. Clark would never have had any sexual interest in Victoria, and even if Clark had wanted her, he wouldn't have been stupid enough to indulge himself in Lex's own house, with his return imminent. Of course Lex _had_ known . . .

That Clark would never . . .

That he didn't . . .

 _That he wasn't . . ._

But the temptation had been irresistible, and then, what's a little lying when it's only to yourself and allowed you the one thing you wanted most in the whole world? What did a little self-delusion hurt in the long run?

Everything.

 _Everyone._

There had always been _something_ between him and Clark, something special, something rare. But it had been innocent, unspoiled. Lex had recognized it, nursed it, knowing that one day his relationship with Clark Kent could blossom into something _more_ even though he was completely satisfied with the friendship. For a transient bit of gratification in the present, had he ruined their future?

Glancing around the room, eyes drawn to the large windows and the white vista beyond, Lex latched on to another possible way out. He lay back in the bed thinking—hoping—that the _snow_ would continue to fall. And fall. _And fall._ He and Clark would have at least two days together, maybe three. In three days time, Lex was sure he could convince the Pope that the sky was falling. Three days would be enough time to convince Clark that he . . . _loved_ . . . him. Confined to the mansion with no one around to interfere, he could convince Clark that everything that had happened between the two of them had happened out of love, no matter what Victoria might say to the contrary. Lex would never take advantage of him.

He wouldn't.

 _But he had._

Anxious, daunted by the implacable threat of dawn, Lex snagged the sheet and pulled it up over their bodies, pressing himself to Clark's side, basking in the warmth that seemed to radiate from him like a furnace. Lex resolved to deal with the morning when it arrived—honestly—trusting Clark to determine the truth of his feelings. Lightly, with a type of gallows resignation, he draped a possessive arm over Clark's chest.

Fitfully, Clark shrugged away from him, turned over, sighing, murmuring—

 _Lana._

Lex froze, startled. His breath went in. His heart skipped one or two beats.

 _Lana._

How could Clark be dreaming of her on a night like this? Lex wanted to scream. Instead he shivered and moved away from Clark, closer to the edge of the bed. He was suddenly _cold._ Why hadn't he realized that it could be so very cold on this side of paradise?

 _finis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title compliments of the Jonathan Carroll story, _A Wheel in the Desert, the Moon on Some Swings._
> 
> The following quotation comes compliments of the story _White as Snow_ by Tanith Lee:
> 
>  _I see you climb to meet me,_ says the moon. _I regret, by the time you have gone high enough up the hill, I shall have reached the summit of the sky._


End file.
